It was amazing to her the way her money seemed to diminish as if by magic. There wasn’t anyone she could appeal to. Hugh and Elinor had left for Paris a few days after the trial ended, and even if Hugh had not gone, she would have died before appealing to him. He had treated her shamefully all through the trial, coming into court day after day, without once speaking to her, or even noticing her. Of course, she never guessed that he was really ashamed to look at her. Conscience is a difficult tormentor at times. The day before they sailed, Elinor called her on the ’phone. “We’re leaving for Europe to-morrow, mother,” she announced. “May I come out to see you before we go?” “I really can’t see why you should wish to see me, Elinor,” she answered as coolly as her daughter had spoken, but her heart was beating madly. “Well, I’m going a long ways from here, and somehow—I should like you—to wish me luck.” There was a little sob in her voice. “I do wish you the best luck in the world—_always_,” Marjorie replied heartily; “only I don’t feel as if I could stand seeing you just yet.” “I’m sorry, mother. Good-by.” Marjorie heard the receiver click at the other end of the line. Elinor and Hugh had passed out of her life. When she discovered her funds dwindling away to almost nothing, she endeavored to economize in every possible way. She gave up their rooms in the hotel where Howard had fallen ill, and moved into a back-room in a private dwelling close to the sanitarium, explaining to Howard that she had made the change in order to be nearer him. One morning, she entered Howard’s room, expecting to find him sitting up in bed finishing his breakfast as usual. To her great surprise, he rushed toward her and grabbed her in his arms. He was dressed for the street, while his suitcase stood in the corner, packed and strapped. “Hello, dearest!” he cried, kissing her fondly, “what do you think of your boy now?” “Why, darling—what does this mean?” She struggled out of his embrace and looked about her in surprise. “It means that I’m perfectly well, mother—and able to go home with you now.” He kissed her again. “I knew all about it yesterday, but I begged Doctor Simpson and Miss Sanders not to tell you. I wanted the pleasure of surprising you myself. Are you happy, dear?” “Happy to see you well and able to leave here? Why, darling, you know how happy I am, only—only—” she stammered helplessly, “I—I wish you had told me yesterday.” “But why, mother? I can’t see why it was necessary to tell you in advance? All you have to do is to call a taxi and take me home.” “Well—you see, dear—” she hesitated slightly, “I wanted to know a day or two in advance so that I could look for a small apartment, or else engage another room—in the house—where I am now living.” “Another room? Why, dearest, do you mean to say that you have only one room?” “Why yes—you see——”